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131.—THE MILKMAID. A milkmaid, who poised a full pail on her head,
Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said : « Let's see-I should think that this milk will
procure, One hundred good eggs, or fourscore, to be sure.
“ Well then-stop-a-bit-it must not be forgotten, Some of these may be broken, and some may be
rotten; But if twenty for accident should be detach'd, It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to be
“Well, sixty sound eggs-no, sound chickens, I
mean; Of these somemay die-we'll suppose seventeen, Seventeen ! not so many—say ten at the most,
Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast. “ But then, there's their barley, how much will
they need ? Why, they take but one grain at a time when
they feed, So that's a mere trifle; now then, let us see, At a fair market price how much money there'll
“ Six shillings a pair-five-four-three-and-six,
To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix; Now what will that make ?-fifty chickens, I said. Fifty times three-and-sixpence-I'll ask brother Ned.
“O! but stop—three-and-sixpence a pair I must
sell 'em ; Well, a pair is a couple now then let us tell'em; A couple in fifty will go-(my poor brain !) Why just a score times, and five pair will
remain. “Twenty-five pair of fowls—now how tiresome it is
That I can't reckon up such money as this ! Well there's no use in trying, so let's give a guess
I'll say twenty pounds, and it can't be no less. • Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow, Thirty geese and two turkeys-eight pigs and
a sow; Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year, I shall fill both my pockets with guineas 'tis
clear.” Forgetting her burden, when this she had said,
The maid superciliously tossed up her head; When, alas! for her prospects—her milk-pai!
descended, And so all her schemes for the future were
ended. This moral, I think, may be safely attach’d, Reckon not on your chickens before they are • hatched.
132.-SWALLOW AND RED-BREAST. The swallows, at the close of day, When autumn shone with fainter ray,
Around the chimney circling flew,
“ 'Tis true (the red-breast answer'd ineek),
W. L, Bowles.
133.—THE FIRST GRIEF. “Oh! call my brother back to me,
I cannot play alone;
Where is my brother gone?
Across the sun-beam's track;
Oh! call my brother back. “The flowers run wild-the flowers we sowed
Around our garden-tree;
Oh! call him back to me.”
He may not come to thee;
On earth no more thou’lt see ! "A rose's brief bright life of joy,
Such unto him was given;
Thy brother is in heaven!”
And must I call in vain;
Will he not come again?
Are all our wanderings o'er?
134.—THE UNREGARDED TOILS OF THE
What wounded spirits bleed;
And yet man takes no heed! He goeth in his daily course,
Made fat with oil and wine,
That in his bondage pine;
That delve  for him the mine!
In noisy factories dim,
Do heavy tasks for him!
Beneath his feet that lie :
From him claim sympathy :
Heareth the sufferers' groan,
135.-FORGET ME NOT!
Mincepies are out of date;
 Delve dig.